Day 59: Back to Istanbul

My week of recuperative rest in Gümüşhane was mostly worth it. I left with a far more positive outlook on the town than I had developed before I went travelling. Maybe it was because of Ramadan but people were kinder to me, and I enjoyed myself. That is until I got ready to leave this morning. That’s when the relationship I’ve been in finally broke under the strain of distance and the significant differences between us. Maybe it was foolish and naïve of me to think it would work in the first place. I’m still in the stage of comforting myself with “some things aren’t meant to happen,” but I’m sure I’ll transition through anger, bitterness, resentment, self-loathing and finally get over it just like everybody else under the sun.

When I arrived at the Gümüşhane otogar, the bus driver decided to take me under his wing for some odd reason. I think he thought I was some clueless tourist (an easy mistake to make). He showed me the cafeteria, the restrooms and the place our bus would be departing from before showing me to a seat outside. Off toward Trabzon I could see ominous storm clouds brewing, which momentarily made me wonder if I’d gained the ability to control the weather with my mood.

Gümüşhane to Trabzon was about as uneventful as it always is. I couldn’t find anything I wanted to listen to on my iPod. I mostly just sat there looking sad, gloomy and disgruntled. The bus driver apparently noticed my mood and suddenly “Gangster’s Paradise” by ___ is piping through the bus’s stereo system. He grinned at me in the rearview mirror and gave me a thumb’s up, and I had no choice but to laugh. God bless that guy.

In Trabzon I called the guy who had my luggage. He seriously did not speak a word of English. I had to bust out my Turkish phrasebook to try to tell him I was at the Trabzon otogar and I needed my luggage. After hanging up with him, desperately hoping he understood what I meant, I received a call from a number I didn’t have in my phone. It was the school’s headmaster, Nusret, who had arranged to have my luggage stored with his friend. He was confirming everything with me in English that I’d tried to convey to his friend. He said his friend would be there in 30 minutes, and sure enough he arrived on time (albeit on the other side of the otogar from me).

Nusret’s friend put me in a taksi to the airport for a good price, and when I arrived this old guy latched on to me and ushered me inside with my things. He guided me through security and then indicated where I could sit down. Through a combination of him pointing at his watch and my confused Turkish I managed to understand that the ticket agents didn’t arrive until 3:00 PM. When they did arrive I checked it, paid my baggage overage for the weight (a whole 15 TL, like $10) and then went through security again.

People here are baffled by my CPAP, which is the machine I have to use at night because of sleep apnea. After it went through the X-ray machine, I used “medical,” “oxygen,” and choking myself to indicate that it was a medical machine I used at night to keep me from choking to death. The lady asked, “Oxygen?” to confirm and when I said, “Evet (Yes)” she laughed and slapped her co-worker on the shoulder, as if to say, “I told you so.” Then they made me dig out a pair of scissors. And then my camera. And finally the guy just motioned me over behind the security barricade and we went over the odd things on the monitor one by one – my camera, a pen, scissors, the CPAP and a couple of other things he couldn’t identify. I got the feeling I could have told him it was a flying pink elephant and he would have nodded his head at me.

The flight was uneventful, but it took me forever to get to my hostel. Of course I got lost thanks to some stooge on the street corner giving me wrong directions, but naturally a kind Turk entered the picture and walked me across the neighborhood asking every shopkeeper we passed until we found the place. He parted with a smile and a wave, reminding me why I love Turkey.